


So Easy

by grey2510



Series: The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Wearing Dean Winchester's Clothes, Developing Relationship, Djinni & Genies, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sam/Eileen mentioned briefly, Sharing a Bed, The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, Written for, tropes!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9342983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: Dean and Sam rescue Cas from a djinn dream. While helping Cas recover, something shifts in their relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [MittenWraith's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith) ( [@mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/) ) challenge on Tumblr for [Round One](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/155724969460/the-great-fic-writer-scavenger-hunt-round-one)
> 
> Tropes:  
> "There Is Only One Bed, a fanfic staple that I think we all agree we could read on an infinite loop
> 
> AND, the distinctly Supernatural element,
> 
> Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes."

The sight isn’t pretty: Cas is strung up with two other djinn victims, all of them deathly pale. Their clothes are tattered and soiled; if Dean weren’t solely focused on the angel, he might wonder if they were dragged here before being hooked up to the djinn’s IVs.

“Cas!” he calls out, immediately rushing to the angel and cutting through the bonds wrapped around his wrists. Cas sinks to the ground, even partly supported by Dean. Behind them, Dean can hear Sam doing the same to the other victims.

“Dean?” Cas croaks, and Dean lifts his head, a hand on each side of his face, and studies his eyes. They’re still that bright blue, but bleary and confused.

“Yeah, man, c’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

“The djinn?”

“Dead,” Dean grunts out as he hauls Cas to his feet. “Sammy?”

He looks over to his brother, who has solemnly laid out the victims—a couple that went missing almost a week ago. Neither of them are moving, and judging by the care with which Sam has arranged them, Dean knows they were too late.

“We’ll, uh, I’ll call it in. Anonymous tip, soon as I burn the djinn,” Sam says solemnly. “You get Cas to a motel, get him cleaned up. I’ll call a cab or something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean nods hollowly, adjusting his grip on Cas’ waist, and he feels strong fingers clutch the fabric of his jacket shoulder. While he hates the idea of leaving his brother to deal with this, he can’t ignore the absolute relief welling up in him that Cas is alive, he’s going to be ok, and the fact that maybe they can get to a motel and just take a fucking breather for once.

Luckily, there’s a motel about two miles down the road—Sam could walk it if he wanted to. And for once, it actually looks kind of not shitty. No four-star establishment, but it looks like the kind of place someone on a business trip wouldn’t mind crashing in. Unfortunately, that’s _exactly_ the kind of place it is, Dean discovers, when he goes to get a couple of rooms and finds there’s some corporate function in town and the place is almost booked solid.

“Can’t do any doubles,” the clerk says. “Got two singles with queens in ‘em, though.”

Dean just nods—they’ll figure something out and it’s not like this is the first time he’s had to bunk up with Sam or someone’s crashed on the floor. He slides a credit card over, signs a receipt, then makes his way back to the car. Cas is still collapsed in the backseat, but his eyes flutter open when Dean shakes him gently.

“C’mon, buddy,” he says, guiding him out of the car and into one of the rooms; the other is, of course, at the other end of the motel. Figures. They make it into the room and Cas immediately sinks down onto the corner of the bed. He’s still upright, but swaying a little, and Dean puts a steadying hand on the angel’s shoulder. “Whoa, you can’t pass out yet. We gotta get you cleaned up.”

Cas frowns, looking mournfully down at his hands and lap. He blinks slowly, touching the torn and dirty fabric of his coat. “I have nothing else. And I can’t—" He sways a little harder and Dean stiffens his arm to keep him upright.

“Yeah, I know. It’s ok. Gotcha covered.” Dean lets his duffel, which he’d luckily thought to grab before getting Cas out of the car, slip off his shoulder and onto the floor. Cas might be still angelified, but with Heaven closed up ever since Amara, his Grace’s been wonky at best: he sleeps sometimes, he eats sometimes, he complains about “stupid human needs" sometimes (whatever that means). Being djinn food couldn’t have helped. “C’mon, let’s get out of this.”

“But, Dean, isn’t this…" Cas squints at him, his eyes slightly unfocused. “What about…personal space?”

“Kinda way past that at this point, Cas. C’mon. Let’s go.”

And like he would a small child, Dean helps Cas shrug out of his many layers—trench, suit jacket, tie, shirt. Dean drops to a knee to reach Cas’ shoes and socks. Next is his belt and pants, and Dean doesn’t even have it in him to crack a joke about the situation. There’s absolutely nothing sexual about it, and it breaks Dean’s heart to see how nearly broken this once-mighty warrior of Heaven is. Cas' fingers fumble once, twice on the clasps before Dean steps in and helps. Once Cas is down to just his boxers—plain white ones (apparently either Jimmy or Cas, or both, wasn’t the adventurous type when it came to underwear)—Dean takes Cas by the forearms and lifts him up from the bed. Together, they make it over to the bathroom. Dean leans Cas against the wall while he gets the water hot.

“You think you can stand on your own or you need help?”

And Dean knows something is truly wrong with Cas because this is the part where Cas should be bitching at him that he’s not useless and can take care of himself. Instead, Cas just takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and nods.

“I think I can do it. Maybe, if you could just…?” Cas doesn’t seem sure what to ask or how to ask it.

“I can stay in the room, ‘case you need me, or I can give you some of that personal space. Whatever you need.”

“Here is ok,” Cas admits, and then, with clearly no modesty, he reaches down and starts to pull off his boxers.

“Yeah, um, ok,” Dean coughs, averting his eyes and failing miserably at first because fucking mirrors. Again, it’s not like this is exactly sexy—Cas is gaunt and bruised and covered in godknowswhat from that warehouse—but if there’s one rule about bathrooms and locker rooms, it’s that you just don’t look when another dude’s naked.

Using Dean’s shoulder to steady himself, Cas gingerly climbs into the shower and pulls the curtain closed. As he waits for Cas to finish washing, Dean leans back against the wall, his eyes finding the ceiling. Fuck, today was close. He doesn’t even want to think about what might’ve happened if he and Sammy were just a little bit later. They couldn’t even save those other two, and if they lost Cas—

Dean’s phone vibrates in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts. 

> SAM: Where you guys?
> 
> DEAN: Thompsonville motel…2 mi from warehouse. Could prob walk
> 
> DEAN: Rm 43
> 
> SAM: Meet you there

“Dean?” Cas’ voice sounds like he gargled gravel, which is saying something, considering he usually sounds like he’s gargled something other than Listerine. “I think I’m ready to get out.”

“Right,” Dean answers, pocketing the phone.

Getting Cas out of the shower, toweled up, and back into the room is less of an ordeal than the original journey: Cas is still weak and worn, but the hot water seems to have revived him a little. Dean reaches into his duffel and pulls out a pair of boxer briefs, some sweatpants, and a t-shirt.

Cas studies the offered clothing, still dripping in his towel. “What about you?”

“Always pack spare clothes,” Dean shrugs. “And you’d fit in my stuff better than Sam’s.”

Slowly, Cas gets into the clothes, and then sits on the edge of the bed again.

“I’m sorry, Dean. You and Sam shouldn’t have—"

“Whoa, don’t even start, Cas. Shit happens. It’s ok.” Dean gets a glass of water from the tiny kitchenette and sets it on the nightstand. “You should get some sleep, man.”

Cas gives him a wry smile. “Are you going to watch over _me_?”

“Don’t be a smug bastard.” Dean looks around the room. There’s a straightback chair at a tiny little table, and he drags it over next to the bed. “Sam’ll be back soon. I got a second room. It’s on the other side of the motel, though.”

“Oh.” Cas looks disappointed as he eases himself under the sheets. “So I would be…here.”

Something in Dean’s chest tightens. “I’m staying for awhile,” he decides, as if he hadn’t decided this long ago. “Make sure you’re ok.”

“Oh. Good,” Cas answers, sounding carefully relieved. His eyelids droop, and then languidly open up again. “That chair looks uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Dean lies, trying not to shift too much.

“You could sit on the other side of the bed. Watch TV,” Cas offers.

“That’s…um…yeah.” He can’t really think of a good excuse _not_ to, and it does look a hell of a lot more comfortable than this wooden torture contraption. He unlaces and kicks off his boots, then heads to the far side of the bed, stretching his legs out and resting his back against the headboard. The TV blares on at full volume until Dean can find the mute button.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Cas answers sleepily. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, buddy, no problem.” A question occurs to Dean, even though he’s worried what the answer might be. “Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“What…uh…what’d you see? When you were in there?”

Cas doesn’t answer right away, and Dean’s stomach drops. _Probably Heaven,_ Dean thinks. _Back with his wings and all his powers and away from all this shit._

“It was…the Bunker,” Cas confesses, but Dean senses he’s holding something back. “We were all together: you, Sam, me, Charlie, Bobby…"

“Oh,” Dean breathes out, a little overwhelmed. “And, uh, what were we doing?”

But Cas doesn’t answer. His breathing is steady and deep. Dean sighs, resigning himself to watching a Spanish telenova with no sound. Not long later, Sam finds him in the same position, having finally walked back after dealing with the warehouse situation.

“He ok?” Sam whispers.

Dean nods, then gestures with his chin towards the table. “Got another room. Key’s over there.”

“You staying here or coming…?” Sam trails off.

Dean eyes Cas who is sleeping peacefully. He knows he should probably go with Sam, give Cas some space, but the thought of leaving him alone…

“Gonna stay awhile. Make sure he’s ok. Be over in a bit.”

Sam gives a half-smile, but doesn’t comment further. “Yeah, ok. Text me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Somehow “staying for awhile" translates into “staying the whole night" because at some point, Dean must have nodded off, which is why he’s awaking to an angel octopused onto him. He feels like he should be more weirded out than he is. Truth is, it’s kind of…nice.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean whispers.

Cas shifts, grabbing Dean a little tighter around the waist until he apparently wakes up. He retreats to his side of the bed quickly.

“Oh no, Dean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

“Dude,” Dean chuckles. “It’s fine. Really.”

Cas’ eyes look anywhere but at him.

“Cas?” He frowns. “Is this about…the djinn?”

The angel looks almost on the verge of tears, but he nods, once.

“So in your dream, you and me were…?” Another nod. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Reaching over, his hand nearly shaking with the enormity of what he’s about to do, Dean guides Cas’ face back to look him in the eye, cupping his jaw. He lets his thumb brush over his cheekbone. “Don’t be.”

Which of course is the moment when Sam decides to knock on the door to get them up and moving for breakfast.

_Son of a bitch._

_  
_

From that day on, though, what grows between Dean and Cas comes so easy, so natural, that both of them—in their quiet moments in the Bunker or in the car or at a diner—wonder why they never, to use one of Dean’s expressions, got their heads out of their asses sooner.

Even Sam doesn’t seem overly surprised, taking it more or less in stride, although he does make more than a few pain-in-the-ass little brother comments about it.

Since Lisa, Dean’d never thought he’d get something like this with anyone, but he guesses Sam was right: the white picket fence was never going to work: it had to be someone in the life, someone who understands.

Hell, a year later, Dean manages to convince Sam to just take his own advice and finally do something other than give Eileen puppy-dog eyes.

Two years later, they make him an uncle. Sam, naturally, panics about bringing a kid into the life, starting the cycle all over again. But they make it work. Dad had always kept them on the road, isolated from others. Sure, little Robby’s going to have a weird life—there’s no way around it as a Winchester—but Robby’s got a hell of a lot more family to count on than Sam and Dean, or Eileen or Cas, ever did.     

It’s not like they give up hunting or anything. Not like the bad guys just stopped being bad because the Winchesters finally found their better halves.

Which is what brings them to now: a dilapidated barn where a nest of vampires have decided to roost. He and Cas had made pretty short work of them, catching the group while they slept. Dean’s just cleaning off his machete, and he looks across the room to see Cas doing the same with his own blade. Dean knows it probably says a lot about him and how fucked up his life is that he just can’t take his eyes off of the angel. The sun filtering through the cracks and chinks of the barn wall, bouncing off of the dust in the air, gives Cas this otherworldly glow. His jaw is set in concentration, his shoulders square. In this moment, Cas looks almost regal, and Dean watches in fascination, a fascination that hasn’t tapered at all in the years since the djinn.

Cas must notice his gaze because he turns his head towards Dean, who gives him a fond, and maybe a little cocky, grin. But Cas’ eyes go wide in alarm.

“Dean!”

And that’s when he notices the footsteps behind him. He spins, raising his machete, but before he can react, a blow strikes him across the jaw. As he reels back, he expects to go down for the count, but instead, it’s like he keeps falling back and back and the world grows darker and he wonders just how far from the ground he really is and then suddenly it’s light again and—

“Dean!” Sam’s voice is loud and grating, but it snaps him back to consciousness. He’s lying on a warehouse floor, utterly spent, his wrists chafed and raw. “Oh thank god. Cas! He’s in here! We got him!”

Dean coughs and eases himself up into a half-sitting position with the help of Sam’s broad hand at his back. Cas enters the room, coat billowing in righteous fury. Judging from whatever is dripping from the angel blade, Dean would guess the djinn is dead.

The djinn.

So, this is real.

And all that…

Helplessly, Dean looks up at Cas, knowing what they’d had in that world.

It’d been so easy. So simple. So obvious.

Could it ever be? For real?

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...this probably didn't go how you were expecting. But hey, I did tag this as angst, so *shrug*.
> 
> #sorrynotsorry
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


End file.
